Memories
by toumeiillusion
Summary: Sometimes, if you don't know anything about someone, you ask the person closest to them. Sometimes it brings back a lot and other times not so much. Luckily for Rachel, Hamilton still thinks about her mother quite a bit. [Twelve Shots of Summer: Trinity Limit]


"What was my mother like?"

Hamilton looked up from the papers on his desk to the doorway. Lately, Rachel made it a point to visit in the middle of the day while Eliza was out with the kids. He was always happy to see her, but he wished it didn't have to be for such a short time. There were so many years to catch up on, so many things he wanted to do for her, and he could only get so much done in so much time.

He smiled and took off his glasses, pushing away from the desk. Rachel took it as the signal to come in and stepped quietly into the room, closing the door behind her. She sat delicately on the chair by his bookshelf, big blue eyes shining as she watched him.

"In general or is there something you want to know specifically?"

Rachel tapped her cheek as she thought, something Hamilton could remember her mother doing from time to time. He was amazed at how similar they could be when they hadn't been around each other. He could expect them to look as much alike but their mannerisms were too close to explain. It made him wonder if Maria was that similar to her as well.

"I don't know anything about her in the first place so I suppose… You could just start with whatever you'd like."

"Well… She was delicate, gentle, and open minded. She stood out in a room, even if you couldn't see her over most people's heads. She liked to be outside but she spent a lot of her time cooped up in different rooms. She always had paper and pens with her. It was practically a self-made rule that she couldn't leave her house without it…" Hamilton paused, closing his eyes and pushing back the beginnings of what felt like tears.

"She was dazzling, Rachel. Everything she did was absolutely amazing and wonderful. There wasn't a day that she didn't make time to check on me. During the war, she wrote me a letter every day. I couldn't keep up with her because I was so busy but she didn't care. She was always thinking about me."

"She sounds like a much better friend than she is a mother," Rachel said softly but not without bitterness. She looked down at the floor, a frown apparent on her face. Hamilton couldn't blame her for being upset. He knew what it felt like to think you were abandoned. On some level, he still felt abandoned by the same woman as Rachel. The only difference was that he knew her. He knew there had to be some circumstance holding her back from being with them, more than the obvious issues. Rachel couldn't possibly know that.

Hamilton stood slowly from his chair and walked to Rachel, kneeling down in front of her and taking her small, soft hands into his. "I never really told you much about how I met her, did I?"

Rachel shook her head. "I don't think you did. I only know the first thing she ever said to you."

He smiled and helped her from the chair, standing to his full height and leading her to the desk. He opened the bottom-most drawer and pulled out a worn book, handing it to her.

"It all starts with that," he said softly.

[]

My hand skimmed over hers as we reached for the book that had fallen to the ground when we bumped into one another. She drew back, looking up to me, and I could have sworn that the universe was in her eyes. I could see the sky, the stars, the sea, and everything in between when those blue eyes met mine. She smiled shyly, a blush spreading across her pale face.

"Sorry about that," I said quietly, holding the book out to her. She took it with both of her hands, fingers sliding over my hand and eyes never breaking contact with mine. Something like lightning coursed through my body at her touch.

She shook her head, as if to say it was alright, and stood quickly. I followed, not wanting to lose sight of her eyes. No one else had ever had eyes like her's. I couldn't imagine that anyone else could have all the answers of the world inside of them. She and her eyes had to be one of a kind.

"My name is Alexander Hamilton. Can I-"

"Would you mind if I painted you?"

I stared, hardly processing what she said at first. Her voice was so soft and high, as if she was squeaking the words instead of speaking them, yet it wasn't harsh or annoying. It was more childish than anything else. It suited her.

"I'm sorry. What?"

She cleared her throat sheepishly, looking to the ground for a second before returning her gaze to me, peering through her eyelashes and making my heart rush. "My name is Johanna. I was wondering if I could paint you…"

[]

"So you literally ran into each other in a park," Rachel interrupted, flipping through the pages of the book and scanning over the pages. Part of her was surprised that none of it was writing, considering who had handed it to her, and that each page had some sort of landscape drawing until the near midpoint. She raised an eyebrow, looking from the page to Hamilton's face.

"Were you expecting something else? Not every meeting happens somewhere fantastic. Sometimes they're small and slightly painful." Hamilton chuckled to himself, looking over her shoulder at the page. He knew the pictures well. He found himself coming back to the book whenever he felt tired or alone. He always thought of her when he saw the pages.

"Did she draw all of these?"

"Every single one. It makes sense now that the first thing she said to me was about painting. Your mother was quite the artist. Somewhere around here is a painting she did of my dog while he was sleeping."

Rachel glanced around, despite realizing that he probably hadn't hung up any of the paintings she might have done for him. She knew it would make him think of her and, in a place where he was supposed to do work, he would never get anything done with her on his mind.

"Did she only do canvases then?"

"Well… No. Not exactly."

[]

"Would you just hold still, Alexander? You're making me blur colors that don't need blurred."

Johanna's laugh echoed around the sunny room and she tried to keep me still. For nearly an hour now, I had been sitting on a stool squirming as she tried to paint me in the most literal sense. Even if it hadn't been for the brush tickling me every time it slid over my skin, I wouldn't have been able to sit still. She was strangely comfortable with having a shirtless man in front of her and it made my embarrassment seem out of place.

"I can't. It tickles too much."

She hummed in response, poking my cheek with the blue stained brush. I could tell that she was slipping back into full concentration mode. Everything about her seemed to get more intense when she was focused. The shine in her eyes got brighter, each move seemed more deliberate and precise, and her gaze was sharp. She looked like she had a mission that she was set on completing it no matter what tried to get in her way. She was at her most beautiful when she focused and I reveled in being what she focused on.

She stopped to mix more colors together of her palette, yellow and white combining with blue to create a lighter green that she promptly smeared onto the side of my neck. I was suddenly grateful that she'd tied my hair up into a tight bun before she started this. As it was, getting all of this paint off was going to be a monumental task.

"You look good in green. It really goes with your eyes."

"Does it? I always thought purple would be better," I said with a laugh, turning my head so she could paint in the line between my jaw and neck. I hardly noticed how cold the paint was now, though whether I had just gotten used to it or it had warmed up was beyond me.

"No. Purple would be alright but green is really the best. You look more… Handsome. Mature. About as old as your mind is."

From the corner of my eye I could see her smirk and my heart stopped.

"…I should make it a point to wear green more often then, since the artist so approves."

Johanna nodded a little, fading out of conversation again as the brush moved further down and skimmed my collar bone. I took in a shaky breath, closing my eyes tightly and trying not to move. It tickled far too much.

"Alexander…?" she whispered suddenly. The brush stopped moving and I opened one eyes to look at her. Her eyes were trained on the places she'd been painting as if she couldn't look anywhere else. The brush was at her side, still held loosely between her fingers and dripping with paint.

"Yes?" I asked tentatively.

"Can I kiss you?"

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

[]

"Mr. Hamilton?"

Rachel suddenly came into complete focus in front of Hamilton's eyes as she drew him out of his own memory. He smiled apologetically and ruffled her hair.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was saying," Rachel said slowly, eyes becoming concerned as she looked over him, "that I should be heading back soon. It's getting dark and your family will be home any minute."

Hamilton frowned as the words left her mouth. He knew what she meant, Eliza and the kids would be home soon, but he wished she would have said it differently. She was as much his family as they were and he wanted her to see that. They may not have known each other long but she was still his daughter. She was important to him.

"Let me walk you home then," he said softly. "I don't want anything to happen to you on the way back."

Carefully, Hamilton took the book from Rachel and set it down on the desk, replacing it with his hand. A small smile came over her face and he was immediately glad he had said something. Hand in hand, the two turned to leave the study.


End file.
